


A Wolf in the Wrong Place

by JessicaPendragon



Series: Non Canon Keela Lavellan [9]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Timelines, F/M, Family, Gen, Solavellan, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaPendragon/pseuds/JessicaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenera accidentally gets sent back in time and meets her parents. Post Crestwood scene and plenty of Uncle Dorian for added fun.</p><p>Rating is for Fenera's filthy sailor mouth. I don't know where she got that from.</p><p>
  <a href="http://jessicapendragon.tumblr.com/post/132065740649/a-wolf-in-the-wrong-place>Tumblr%20Link</a>"></a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dorian smiles as he props his feet up and leans back into his chair. Warm sunlight filters through the window nearby and casts his latest find in perfect clarity. It is an uncreased copy of  _A History of Influential Magisters_  to help him in the search for Corypheus’ weaknesses and despite the material he feels more relaxed than he has in some time. 

Skyhold has settled into a quiet peace as the Inquisition’s main forces still march back from the Arbor Wilds. The incessant, obnoxious cawing of filthy vermin above is blissfully muted and no endless prattle about the Fade wafts up with the heavy scent of paint. The Inquisitor and Solas are on some romantic getaway to Crestwood and Dorian can just imagine all the interesting discussions happening there.

There are no distractions, no annoyances, no bumbling qunari brutes threatening to knock every book off its shelf with those horns. And no, he does not look up at the sound of every elephant footed servant to check if Bull is back, thank you very much. He’s gotten so much studying and work done, it’s almost been a dream come true.

All in all, it’s been an uneventful week.

The hairs of his mustache stand on end and tickle his nose a split second before a hole in the universe opens in the middle of the rotunda. It booms and crackles with errant bolts of magic searing the air and blows a strong wind outward that turns every loose piece of paper into a maelstrom of words and ink.

Dorian fights his way to the balcony to get a better look, cursing all the while as his library flutters apart. When he is halfway there something falls through the rift followed by a loud, whining scream no mortal could ever make. He covers his ears just as the phenomenon buckles and collapses and sends a shockwave bursting out that knocks him from his feet.

When the ringing stops, he hears shouts and a struggle from down below. He does his best to hurry down the stairs and assist with whatever horrors this blasted, broken world has spewed forth now. Maker forbid he go one week without ruining some article of clothing with demon ichor.

“Get away from me! I’ll kill you all I swear!” an angry voice yells, but the vitriol does not take away from the fact that it’s a very human sounding voice.

Dorian finally jumps the last step and enters the main floor of the rotunda. Soldiers surround a young elven woman backed into Solas’ desk. She holds a pair of daggers with blades on fire, but they sputter, choked, and instead of threatening flame they give off pathetic puffs of smoke.

Blood runs from her nose, tears cutting through ash on her cheeks, and everything about her screams of malice and misery. There is something familiar about the dark ebony color of her hair and the lines of her face.

A scout approaches her, palms extended. “Calm down, miss. We just want to help-”

She laughs, bitter and disbelieving. “The Inquisition wants to help me? Fuck you!”

“Now, now, no need for such hostility. We’re all friends here,” Dorian announces.

Her eyes snap to him, bright yellow blazing suns, and he has to blink hard to see if this is some sort of dream. There’s no mistaken the resemblance at the sight of them. Dorian has only seen eyes like that on a few people. There’s a few differences, true, but she is strikingly similar to Kee-

The woman gasps to see him, her fury transforming into shock. When she speaks again, it is in a hopeful whisper. “Unca?”

“Come again?”

There’s a sickening thud and those strange eyes roll back into her head, daggers falling from her grasp as she tumbles to the floor, unconscious. A soldier stands behind her with the pommel of his sword raised. Dorian pins him with an annoyed glare, the edges of his mustache twisting with his frown, and the man shrinks in on himself.

“She was-I thought, I…I’m sorry?”

Dorians sighs and looks down at the mysterious lump on the floor.

Yes. All in all, a rather uneventful week indeed.

* * *

If Skyhold was burning down upon her return it is unlikely Keela would notice. She keeps her head down and hood up to protect herself from the light rain and wandering eyes. There was a tense moment when the forward scouts didn’t recognize her until she flashed the green light of the anchor into the sky. She didn’t have any answers for their questions when she can barely comprehends why her face is free of the vallaslin. It all made perfect sense in that glade, beneath his touch and loving gaze. But now the sting of the last few days seems far worse than the memory of marks etched into skin.

For a brief moment she considers sweeping into the rotunda when she enters the main hall to see if he will solve these riddles now. Would it be unreasonable to drag him before her throne and demand them? She thought, with time, he would finally reveal his secrets. She could practically see them on the tip of his tongue that night, but maybe the only way she’ll ever know the truth is by force. A darker, pained part of her wonders if it’s even worth the effort anymore.

She almost makes it to the door of her tower when a frantic voice finds her. “Inquisitor, Inquisitor! Master Pavus said to fetch you at once when you arrived. I- oh! I, your…uh-”

At the woman’s open mouthed confusion to see her changed, Keela feels the flame of frustration rising ever higher inside. “What’s so urgent?”

“Er, right! Earlier today we caught an intruder in the rotunda. They came through a rift of some sort. Not a demon, but an elven woman. We’re holding her in the dungeon and Master Pavus wanted you to join him immediately.”

Keela takes a breath and steels her mind to this new task. Rifts are something she can handle much better than lying lovers. Shouting flows up the passageway to the cells and Keela winces at the sharp echoes. The first figure she runs into is Dorian, hand clutching his chin and eyes deep in thought.

“Ah, there you are. I-kaffas! What’s this all about?” He gestures to her face and she gives a low growl.

“Later. Who is our prisoner?”

“Not a demon, though could be a spirit like Cole for all I know. She appears to be a mage with fairly erratic abilities. And besides falling from a rift, the most interesting part is that she looks incredibly like you. Expecting any family members? A sister, perhaps?”

“I do not have any sisters.”

They approach the last of the cells where an Inquisition templar stands sentry. “At least give us your name?”

“You know exactly who I am, harellan. Did you even hesitate to betray your people by serving the Inquisitor? Seth’lin scum, I will tell you nothing!”

“Sounds charming,” Keela waves away the elven guard and comes to stand in front of the cell. The stranger paces the length of her confines like a wild animal caged, dried blood caked on her ripped clothes, dirt smeared across bronzed skin. “Perhaps you will speak to me.”

Inside there is a gasping breath, feet nearly tripping over one another in shock, before she jerks towards them. Dorian was right to think they were kin. It is almost like looking in a mirror of a decade ago and there is even something familiar about the differences. There isn’t much time to think about it as she rushes towards the bars and Keela startles to see tears in yellow eyes.

“Mother?”

“Mother!” Dorian and Keela repeat together.

The girl glances down at the mark glowing quietly. Something clicks in her expression, but the revelation doesn’t seem to be a pleasant one. “No, you-your arm, you’re still…Fenedhis, it actually worked. I’m in the Dragon Age, aren’t I? In Skyhold?”

“What worked?” Dorian asks.

Their prisoner takes a breath and wipes at her face, fingers shaking. “I was trying to stop a ritual involving time magic and ended up here, in the past. Please, you have to let me go. I have to find a way back. I have to stop him!”

Keela glances over this other woman, her supposed child. There is something strange about her appearance besides looking so much like each other. Her black clothes are foreign, leather and chains and wool mixed together. Things familiar, but thrown together in a way unseen before. Golden cuffs cover the tips of long ears, metal pierced through her nose, and Keela can see some sort of tattoo peeking through a tattered sleeve that looks nothing like vallaslin.

“Time magic is a dream, nothing more,” Keela argues.

“Is it?” The elf cocks an eyebrow and turns expectant eyes towards Dorian. He looks amazed and guilty like a child caught stealing snacks from the kitchen.

“Dorian?”

“I told you about my mentor, Alexius. Time travel theory was something of a hobby for us. We hypothesized the Breach might make it possible but only within the confines of its creation. We were close to developing an amulet when I left. No idea if he was ever successful.”

“There is another way. I stole notes from the laboratory before I got sent here. Check my pack!”

“And this hatred for the Inquisition?”

“You’re not the Inquisitor forever. The Inquisition of my time is nothing like what it was. It’s hunting my family, hunting you. All of us have been separated for months. We were traveling with Unca and then-”

“Which, if I remember correctly, is me,” Dorian adds quickly.

“You believe this?” Keela asks, incredulous.

The girl leans forward and grabs the bars to give them a feeble shake. “I’m telling the truth! Do you think this is some…some fucking Venatori plot to get into your graces? Dress up someone like the Inquisitor and pretend to be her daughter? Please, Taliesin’s life is in danger and I-”

“And who is that? Another time traveler?”

“No, he’s…he’s my brother.” 

“Your brother? How many children is she supposed to have in this future world?” Dorian asks while Keela’s mind reels over the possibility of more offspring plummeting from the sky.

“There’s three of us. I have two brothers, Taliesin and Aneirin. Twins.” 

Keela squeezes her eyes shut for a moment.Twins. She never gave much thought to fitting a family in the puzzle of her life, not until recently. Not until  _him_. She takes a step forward, heart trembling in her chest. This can’t be real, and yet… “And you? What is your name?”

“Fenera.”

Fenera. The wolf’s dream? Keela shakes her head, her tenuous belief in this story slipping further away. “A strange thing to name my daughter. How could I be sure any of this is the truth?”

“What can I do to convince you? I don’t know. How many people have you told about breaking your nose while staff training? Or how you’re deathly and hilariously afraid of wasps? Your mother was a twin and named you after her brother.” Fenera pauses, eyes skimming over Keela’s bare face. “And  _Solas_ recently told you the vallaslin were slave markings in the time of Arlathan. Before he took them away and left you.”

“Maker, is all that true?” Dorian asks. Keela is for once speechless and only nods her head in acknowledgement. “Incredible,” Dorian continues. “Not the vallaslin part mind you, and we’ll talk about our dear apostate later, but the possibility of successful time travel and you settling into domesticity. Tell us, who is your father?”

Keela finds something else familiar as she catches a glimpse of a corded necklace beneath clothing. She reaches out through the iron and slowly pulls the leather strap up until the pendant attached slips into view. Dorian swears in every Tevene curse known at the sight of the jawbone and Keela would laugh if she thought it wouldn’t come out as screams.

* * *

Solas stares at the final, blank wall of the rotunda and wonders if she will destroy it after this is finished. He does not believe her capable of the act but knows it would be deserved. And she has surprised him before. He hopes Keela will keep it, that one day she will look upon it and see what was beautiful instead of what was lost. 

With a long and tired sigh he steps into the small storage space where he stores his paints and palettes. A sinking feeling in his gut tells him there will be little time until the final battle, but the need to do whatever he can to distract his thoughts is greater. As he mixes colors together, Dorian and Keela’s voices drift into the room beyond and his spine straightens, tingling to hear her so close. There are too many things left unsaid between them, he knows, but he cannot tell her and risk everything. 

He steels himself before walking back into the open and finds Keela perched atop the desk with his sketchpad in hand. “Inquisitor.”

But when she turns it is like the world shifts and he gazes at a similar stranger instead. The elf woman’s black hair is much longer, braided tight and draped over a shoulder, skin not the deep bronze he has mapped with reverent caresses but something brighter.

It is the same mischievous smirk that crosses her mouth, however. “Close.”

He glances at the peculiar clothes, at the blood smear on her neck, and pulls protective magic around his limbs.

“I felt that. Barely though.” She waves a hand in the air. “It really was difficult to reach for power here, wasn’t it? This whole Veil business is very annoying, but I suppose you know that.”

He isn’t sure what she really means to say for she cannot know the truth of it. “You are a mage?”

“I can manipulate the nebulous energies of the Fade,” she says, mimicking his voice with startling ease and accuracy. “But I wouldn’t call myself that.”

Solas narrows his eyes. “Who-”

“The murals are incredible. Dreams don’t do them justice,” she interrupts and the playfulness in her expression falls away to something somber, weary. Now that he is closer, he can see her eyes are strained red with dark shadows lingering beneath like she has not slept in days. 

The young woman hops down from the desk and approaches, eyes flipping between him and the pad as her fingers continue their work. “I was trying to save my family when I was transported here. The place where I come from there is no separation between the Fade and the waking world. You can grab hold of it like thread and weave it into skin, clothes, buildings. I don’t consider myself a mage because there isn’t an elf alive that isn’t touched by magic in some way.”

Her words make him take a sharp breath as alarm coils tight within. He looks closer at her, through her, magic reaching out to meet hers. Her essence is something fluttering and new, not belonging to the steady tune of his Elvhen kin. He knows every agent in his service and she is not one of them. But what she’s recounting, what she  _knows-_

“Thirty-six years ago my father woke up to this world he created. Thirty years ago he destroyed the Veil to undo what he had done in the first place. There was…it was a mess, honestly, but thankfully my mother was there to fix his mistakes once more. Now that things have settled some people, humans mostly, have risen up wanting revenge. They didn’t appreciate the world being broken. One of them became the new Inquisitor. He was attempting time magic to travel back here, to stop my parents before they had the power to thwart him in some way, but I came through instead.”

“This is-it cannot be possible.” But Solas sees himself in the freckles across her nose, in the soft cleft of her chin, in the charcoal smeared across her long fingers, and there is no denying whose golden eyes she has inherited. 

She turns the sketchbook to show her creation. It is simple but skilled given the time spent upon it - a portrait of the two of them, her head covered by a wolf headpiece with many eyes, he standing tall behind her. The ground beneath Solas’ feet seems to fall away. He is overwhelmed by a past and a mantel that he can never escape and a future that cannot be.

“I haven’t told her any of this. I don’t think Skyhold would survive it. I told you because I need your help to get back and because, well, I know what you’ve done and what you will do and I wanted you to know that it works out in the end. More or less. Despite the mob chasing us right now and the world burning for awhile-”

“…what we can.” They both turn to at the sound of Dorian and Keela descend the twisting stairs. “It will have to be enough. Fenera, you-” The Inquisitor’s words fall away as her eyes strike against him, but he has heard too much already in the name alone.

Solas turns to the girl and swallows the thousands of hopes he has never given voice before. Of all outcomes, he cannot believe his actions would lead to something so wonderful. The future could only be death and destruction, loneliness and betrayal. Not this. Not this vision of acceptance and love blossoming into new life. He does not deserve it. His weighty mistakes could not lead to such a forgiving sentence.

“I…” Standing grows more difficult, legs buckling beneath burdens and revelations. He reaches out, blindly, and it is Fenera who catches his arm to anchor him to the ground again. To this mess of a world he made where she is the result. She gives him a smile that is all her own and it is that small act that finally makes everything real. “Fenera?”

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

He laughs and dares to let his touch fall on her arm in return. She is warm, solid. Alive. “More than you could imagine.”

Fenera shrugs. “You’d be amazed at what I can imagine.”

“Solas.” Keela’s quiet call pulls them both back and he braces himself before facing her. She wears the stiff mask of the Inquisitor and although it is meant to show little of her intentions, he knows what it means for her to use it. It is a shield, a bolster of strength and courage when she cannot face what is to come alone. He hates that she wears it because of him now.

“Keela.”

“ _Elvhen_   _such as you,_ ” she replies and he resists the urge to step back as she moves closer with every word spoken. “ _Dirth ma, harellan? Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din._   _What if you wake up to find the future you shaped is worse than it was?_ Did you think I wasn’t listening? _”_

He does not know how to tell her that he has always hoped she was. Keela stops next to Fenera and he can feel the heat flowing off her skin, but still her face shows nothing of what lurks inside. She takes the sketch and does not look shocked to see what is there. “Is that it then? The great, horrible thing you would shatter everything between us for? The secret you must protect me from, that I couldn’t possibly understand? Is this your truth?”

“Yes.” It is easy to say after all. He expects her to lash out with flames and fury and give him the retribution he deserves. The pages of his book crinkle in her fingers and something catches within her gaze, but she surprises him. Again.

Without another word, Keela passes him and walks through the door. 


	2. Chapter 2

This is a disaster.

It shouldn’t really surprise her. She is, after all, the daughter of the Dread Wolf and the infamous Inquisitor and normality is a very relative concept in her life. But being caught in the past with people that are and are not her parents, when the Fade is locked away and her skin feels so strange as a result, is almost more insane than she knows what to do with.

What is more insane is following after her mother’s silent fury which is exactly what her father foolishly does now. Fenera, and most of Thedas, has learned to stay away from Keela Lavellan when her fire burns cold and hard, but apparently it is a lesson that one person refuses to learn.

“What just happened?” Dorian asks behind her as they rush after the pair. “What is this secret?”

Well, it probably won’t hurt anything more than it already has. “Solas is not only my father, but also Fen’Harel.”

“Fen’Har…Vishante kaffas.”

“I would still think that he is my father is more of a shock.”

“You’re right,” Dorian replies after a thoughtful pause. “That she doesn’t kill him makes your birth quite miraculous indeed.”

“Trust me, she almost did.”

They catch up as Keela storms out beyond Cullen’s tower and towards the still broken parapets of Skyhold. It comes as a shock that Solas doesn’t burst into flames when he reaches out for her arm.

“I don’t care, Solas!” she proclaims and finally stops to face them. “I would’ve understood, I do understand! Did you really think otherwise? Do you not trust me that much?”

“It was never you that I doubted.”

“Then why-” Fenera watches the wheels of revelation click in her mother’s eyes. “The Veil. It’s not what you’ve done but what you will do that you would keep from me. You want to tear down what you created, restore what was before.” 

“The Veil!” Dorian breathes out. “So the Dalish myths are partially correct at least.”

“The voices of the Vir’abelasan remember what happened when you put it up. I can…I can _see_  it. You would bring the same destruction to my world to save what remains of yours? How can you be so selfish!” 

“Please vhenan, you do not understand,” he says, bowing his head and it seems impossible that anyone can survive the weight of what he has lived. And he isn’t even finished yet. 

“A fact you have done your best to ensure, _hahren_.” Keela steps closer and the anger swirling around her shifts to something heavier, a rage fueled by grief. Fenera might not be able to pull strands of the Fade into this world like before, but the feelings are strong enough to feel even here. “You’d let me die to have your perfect world, wouldn’t you?” 

Fenera winces as Solas does, shakes her head when he doesn’t even try to deny it. It really is a miracle she exists at all. The battlements grow quiet as their thoughts turn inwards and she takes a longer look at the two people who will become her parents one day.

Even now, there’s so very little of the struggles and regrets pushing down of them that she knows. Corypheus was nothing compared to what lays beyond. So much of it comes in the after when they are each other’s enemy. She has caught Solas staring into the nothingness a few times, brows turned down and frowning, so much unlike the calm and confident, loving and laughing father he normally is. And Fenera remembers the screams when she was younger as her mother woke from nightmares. It still happens from time to time.

She could go home to them. She could change everything for them.

Fuck it all.

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says. “I can tell you exactly how to change the world without causing massive amounts of damage, for once.”

They all stare at her a moment. “And what happens to you?”

She shrugs to hide how nerves are making her hands shake. “I don’t know, what does it matter? I’m just one person and we’re talking about the fate of the whole world here. If it can be stopped-”

“No,” Keela interrupts and instinct has her shrinking back from the reprimand. 

“Look I’ve already messed everything up in coming here, right? The chances of me ever existing in your future are pretty slim now after everything I’ve told you.”

“That might not be true,” Dorian says. “I suspect you are something out of time, the catalyst. Theoretically, if you go back to before you jumped through the portal, if you remove yourself from the equation and stop that future from happening, this past will also never have occurred.”

“Theoretically.”

Dorian inclines his head. “Theoretically.”

“And if that doesn’t work like you think? If I go back and fail?”

“There’s always Cole to make us forget, I suppose.”

“I never met him. He sacrificed himself to save you both.” Her parents flinch at that and Fenera knows this is probably the only advantage she’ll have over them. The traitors in the Inquisition, the toll of the anchor and its rather untimely removal. The personal war between the past’s greatest villain and this world’s greatest hero. “I can tell you all the people that are gone because of what happens and then you can tell me if it’s worth it. How about-”

“It won’t change my decision!” Keela announces.

“They’re your friends! It’s your life. Why would you give a shit about what happens to me? You don’t even know me!”

“It is not just about you. How many others would I be erasing? How many lives will I end before they start and all the things they might have accomplished and added to the world gone? Perhaps if it was a year or two, but twenty, thirty? Are you suggesting I allow the suffering of more people than that?”

“I…don’t know, maybe not. I’ve never counted. You certainly have though. I see it in both your faces even though you try to hide it still.” 

Keela takes a breath and there is that spark of power that brought worlds and gods to heel burning in her eyes. “We will survive it.”

Damn her mother and her stubbornness. Plan B. Fenera looks towards Solas. “You can’t tell me you’re not thinking about it. I know you always wanted to make sure there was as little suffering for everyone as possible. No one will suffer this way, including you. Including _her_.”

“Do not even think it,” Keela growls as his attention focuses on her. 

“I am not.”

“Really, Solas? I would think you would jump at the opportunity especially if you can learn the secrets of time travel to undo it all to begin with,” Dorian speaks up. “What better way to ensure a clean slate than to make sure there was never one there to begin with?”

“It is a tempting idea but one not even I would consider despite my desperation. There are too many unknowns, too many risks. What might be created could be thousands of times worse.” 

Dorian claps his hands. “That settles it then. We’re all hopeless fools and you are going back. Now, how do we do it?”

Fenera lets out a long sigh. Well, at least she tried and gave it almost all her best too. The idea of possibly damning herself, and her brothers, is not something she actually wants so she won’t deny the gigantic bubble of relief floating up inside. Even if she told them everything that happened it’s unlikely it would change their minds. There would only be hurt where it doesn’t belong. Not yet. 

“Fine. If you’re all intent on being crazy then one of the first things we’ll need is some of Solas’ blood.”

* * *

“This involves blood magic?” Dorian grimaces and Keela feels a tug of unease at the thought too. Such magic always leaves a bad taste in her mouth in the few times she’s used it before. 

“As far as I can tell, yes. It’s complicated,” Fenera answers. “I only know what I was told and that might not be too reliable. We’ll need a few alchemy supplies too. It’s all in the notes in my bag.”

“Dorian, help her gather whatever she needs and take it all to the undercroft, Whatever else we might require will likely be there and I’d rather not do this with all of Skyhold looking. We will follow you in a minute.”

She doesn’t miss the supportive look her daughter gives Solas before leaving them alone on the ramparts. Her daughter. Even now that she believes it, it still seems an impossibility. 

In the quiet of their absence, the voices of the well scream in her ears of the horrors brought by the being by her side now. In their memories, she feels the ground beneath her feet tremble as the Fade leaked from the land and left ruin, can see the fear and loss of those Elvhen who survived into a new world broken and strange.

“Did you know what would happen when you created the Veil?”

“No. I had not anticipated the full extent of my actions yet any other alternative was far worse. There was no choice.”

Oh yes, choices. She knows all about them and how they can change your life forever. “How did Corypheus come to possess your orb?”

“I gave it to him. Not directly, but I supplied the means for him to obtain it. I awoke only a year before I joined you too weak to unlock it on my own. He should have died in the explosion. I did not foresee a Tevinter magister learning the technique of effective immortality.”

“I think you did not anticipate much, Solas.”

“Yes, so it would seem,” he confesses although it hardly makes her feel vindicated.

“You were going to tell me in Crestwood, weren’t you? The vallaslin would have just been the beginning of the larger story. Of the Dread Wolf who freed the slaves and damned the Elvhen. So why? Why did you stop?”

“You have shown me there is worth in this world and for a moment I let myself believe I could begin anew. I would have placed all my burdens at your feet without thought to remain at your side and for that reason I could not…I cannot.”

She gives a laugh too brittle to be much of one. “I have distracted _you_ from your duties. And what happens to the rest of us when Elvhenan is restored? If you must destroy my world to have yours, would you really make that sacrifice?”

The way he pauses is answer enough, but at least he is brave enough to say it out loud as well. “I will do what I must.”

Silence stretches between them as thousands of voices echo in her mind. Some scream for vengeance for their home and demand his head as payment. Some beg her to take his hand and help restore what was lost so long ago. She feels torn between the battle in her mind and the one brewing within her heart, feels so stretched thin that finding her own voice in the maelstrom is like gripping onto air.

She glances into his eyes and the voices snap out like a candle flame in a storm. There is concern there, bright and quick, and now she recognizes the dark undercurrent below for what is truly is - a guilt ridden grief longer than the span of her paltry existence a hundred times over. She knew there was pain in his past, something that pushed him into lonely wanderings, but this…this is the weight of an empire brought to ruin on the shoulders of the only one left standing.

“I don’t think you will,” she decides and her anger dissipates into the breeze. She wanted the truth and now she has it, and it changes nothing. 

He shakes his head. “You must understand-”

“It is you who must understand! I slay monsters, Solas, and you are not one. Do you remember when we liberated the crossroads in the Hinterlands? The first thing you did was help tend to the wounded. I can only imagine what you thought about us at the beginning, but you still treated us with kindness. You are a good man who has lost much and I understand how one can cling to duty as a shield from what they’ve done.” 

She steps closer to grab hold to the cords of his necklace. “I think when the time comes and you must let this arrow fly you will hesitate because there are two things that I know for certain - that either I will be there to help stay your hand or that the only way I would allow you to succeed is if I was dead. Since our daughter just traveled back in time I think it is safe to assume the latter does not come to pass.”

The war within his eyes is easy to see, so similar to the way he was at the grove in those last minutes. She doesn’t let him decide their fate this time and wraps herself around him, tight like a barb that stubbornly refuses to be removed. He hesitates only a few heartbeats before returning the embrace with equal affection. “Vhenan,” he whispers and it speaks of surrender and victory. 

“Solas,” she replies before thinking better of it. “I suppose I should not call you that any longer.”

“Please do. I was Solas first. Fen’Harel came later, an insult I took as a badge of pride.”

And for some reason this revelation is more comforting than she can express, to know it was always him whose name she sighed into the dark, whispered as they held each other close, spoke with a kiss as she confessed her love.

“You are a fool,” she says instead and feels his laughter against her neck.

“I would not suggest otherwise.” 

If only they could both know the ultimate outcome for the long road ahead. What little Fenera has told her of the future seems like they will need every scrap of hope for what is to come. “Fenera…we have a child. We have _children_.”

He looks at her with a surprised crinkle bordering on panicked forming between his eyes and she resists the urge to laugh at the sight. “Fenera is the eldest. We have twin boys too, Taliesin and Aneirin. They do say it skips a generation. So I allow my daughter to be named in your honor? Surrounded by a pack of wolves. I wonder where Taliesin and Aneirin comes from then? I do not know anyone by those names.”

“Not yet, perhaps.” And then he kisses her, something warm and full, a thousand words spoken without sound and she wishes time would stand still and be kind to them for just a moment. “Keela…of all the things I have witnessed, never could I have imagined something as unwavering as you.”

“Ever the sweet talker, but there are hundreds of people like me and I hope you realize that someday. I would bet that given a fair chance your elvhen would never be able to stand against us. I can understand why you want to restore your world. They would never survive in mine.”

He gives a sudden smile, light and beautiful, and it coaxes one from her own lips just to see it. “Perhaps you are right.”

“And I am still furious with you, Solas.” Keela gives him another kiss, quick yet strong, as her hand slips into his. “But I love you, too. Come, we have the future to save.”

* * *

Laughter echoes against stone as they enter the undercroft. Dorian and Fenera are both hunched over a workbench with heads close together like they are conspiring something. For some reason, the sight of the Tevinter altus so near sets a strange feeling in Solas’ stomach. After such a short time they seem perfectly at ease with one another and perhaps he wishes he could say the same.

“Ah, there you are! Still in one piece I see. This child of yours is absolutely marvelous. My congratulations.”

“He’s only saying that because I just told him he’s the one who taught me alchemy.”

“Nonsense. I enjoy your blasé attitude and seemingly fashion forward sense as well.”

“Also things you like to tell me I’ve inherited from you.”

“Oh? How interesting.”

Keela lets out a low laugh, eyeing Solas with a sideways smirk. “Seems the future is much more dangerous than we thought,” she whispers as her hand gives a squeeze. 

“And are your siblings so well rounded?” Dorian asks.

“Tali and Ani are impossible children. Somniari are all the same,” Fenera replies with a roll of her eyes. 

“They are both somniari?” Solas asks and cannot disguise the excitement in his voice. Fenera glances up at him with a smile and nods. “And you?”

“No, but the three of you have dragged me into the ‘deep and inexplicable recesses of the Fade’ so many times I feel like I am one,” she says, mimicking his voice again and this time it draws a laugh from him. Fenera is certainly charming in her own way.

“What are they like?” Keela asks as she leaves his side and begins assisting Dorian.

Fenera hops onto the edge of the table and swings her legs in thought. “They’re both quiet, but Taliesin is quieter. They spend so much time in each other’s dreams they forget other people actually need to talk out loud to communicate. He reads a lot. Aneirin likes to experiment. He’s caught the laboratory on fire so many times that one of the first things he created was a magical rune system to spray water over it.”

“You said Taliesin was in danger before?” Keela mentions and the girl’s face falls.

“It’s my fault. Taliesin gave himself up to protect me when I tried to take the Inquisitor on my own, but it was all a trap. He knew I’d trail him back to the keep and bring Unca with me this time. It was all he needed to finish the spell.”

“I think I understand,” Dorian speaks up. “This spell calls for the blood of a somniari to tunnel through time. They are, technically, time mages of a sort. They can pull on memories thousands of years old although they can only observe. The last ingredient needed is the blood of someone who was in the moment you wish to return to. It seems to make the somniari’s ability amplified to actually control and interact with the moments.”

“Your blood and Taliesin’s made the portal that I jumped through,” Fenera explains. 

Solas wonders how this new Inquisitor came to such a clever conclusion. Somniari of old were able to traverse the memories of the Fade with accuracy, not the tumbling, tattered tries he stumbles through now, and Elvhen often called upon the most powerful to be guides into reliving past events in more vivid detail. He is somewhat surprised it never occurred to his kin for all those thousands of years, but their ideas of time were infinitely different from this mortal realm. 

To be able to slip into a dream and fully return to the past…it is truly a temptation indeed. He alone would need to provide the blood necessary to accomplish it if he understands correctly. A simple thing to undo what has been done compared to what he must now do. He meant what he said about this type of magic being too dangerous to use, especially across thousands of years, but he would do it if he knew the decided outcome was worth the risk.

He feels the heavy weight of Keela’s gaze. It is obvious she knows where his thoughts have wandered by the expression on her face. Would she still exist someday, a set star always meant to rise, if he did what they both are unwilling to do for their people? If he found her, could he ever look at her and not feel the weight of what he had erased? 

Perhaps it would be kinder in the long run to them both considering what he must do to restore what was lost. Fenera told him he brings down the Veil, but there is more to his plans than that. The orb will lessen the damage done yet even so there will be such chaos the likes of which Thedas has ever witnessed. Even if some balance is made in the future, he cannot believe his people could be lifted up to what they were before. Keela is right in that the elvhen would be easy fodder in this world, as much as the early elven were after the Veil’s creation. As much as the elves are still whether she would like to admit it or not.

He should take this research for his own and save Elvhenan from the destruction he wrought no matter the consequences. He should-

“And now is the part where we need some of your blood.” Fenera appears in front of him holding out a hand. She tilts her head to the side just a little, vibrant eyes pinned upon him without fear. Just like her mother. He feels grateful that she takes so much after his heart. In the next moment she shifts a hand to her hip and taps an impatient foot, an action all her own, and he feels everything inside him change again. 

She is real too, elvhen and elven somehow, everything he has never allowed himself to dream and even though he is not her father yet, there is no denying the connection still there. She is the impossible proof that he is wrong about the elvhen’s future. And to know she is not alone, that there are two more perfect souls born from his mistakes…

He promised he would do whatever was necessary, he should-but he won’t. He can’t. Solas places his hand atop hers and doesn’t miss how Keela smiles at the corner of his vision as he surrenders this fight. At least for now.

It takes time and some trial and error before they are able to make headway with the spell. “There,” Dorian announces twenty minutes later as a container simmers above flame. “Now we must wait for this to crystallize and then we will have everything needed. Should be less than half an hour I believe. That leaves plenty of time for questions!”

“Do you think that is wise?” Solas asks as he rolls up his sleeves. The undercroft has become heated by their efforts despite the open air across the room.

“What’s the harm? We won’t remember regardless and it might be fun to catch a glimpse of the future while we can. I’ve heard enough of your escapades,” Dorian says as he motions between Keela and Solas. “It’s time for mine. What has Dorian Pavus, rogue altus of Tevinter, been making of himself?”

“You’re no longer an altus for one. It’s Magister Pavus now, a very trusted advisor to the Archon.”

“I suppose that means my father no longer lives.”

“He died well before I was born.”

“Ah well, no one lives forever.” Dorian clears his throat and plucks at something not there. “And The Iron Bull?”

“Um.” Fenera shifts on her feet, clearly ucomfortably, before she takes a breath and gives a half smile. “That doesn’t last, a fact you and your husband are happy about I’m sure.”

“M-my what?”

“You are married to Vaxus Trevelyan from the Free Marshes.”

“I…” All of this may be worth it to see Dorian speechless for once, his face as white as a sheet, and Solas doesn’t fight the quiet laughter bubbling up. 

Keela fairs no better and hides a grin behind her hand. “Are you all right, falon?”

“You must be joking,” Dorian says when he finds the means to speak. “Such a thing would never be allowed.”

Fenera shrugs and slips out of her overcoat to escape the heat as well. Solas’ eyes are immediately drawn to the necklace hanging against her stomach. It is worn in places and faded, but the jawbone is easily recognizable. Seeing her wear it makes a lump build within his throat and he is glad for the distraction when he notices faded, violet lines curling and cutting up her arms and beneath her collar. 

“I wouldn’t say everyone is happy about it, but Tevinter is not the same anymore. After the slave rebellion many things changed and you and Vax were a big part of that. The complainers mostly keep quiet out of fear.”

“What are those markings on your skin?” Keela asks. “They are no vallaslin that I know.”

“They’re not.” Fenera runs her hand over the marks and they glow for a few seconds. “It’s magic woven into skin. It can be used as extra reserves if mana is too low or to fuel protection spells so you can concentrate on offensive ones. That’s what I use them for the most. There was another leader of the rebellion that had similar markings but they were lyrium tattoos. Oh, you know him already. Fenris, Hawke’s husband. Er, I guess they might not be married yet. Either way, that’s where I got my inspiration.”

“You designed these?” Solas cannot keep the surprise from his voice. 

Fenera gives a huff. “Aneirin might be the family inventor but I’m not completely useless either. They don’t work here though. With the Veil still up it’s impossible to weave.”

“Weave?”

“The Elvhen spun magic into many things,” Solas answers Dorian’s question. “Clothes changed shape on a whim. Hair, color. Whole cities were kept afloat or submerged beneath water. The practice of weaving was never done upon skin, however. Such things were for slaves only.” 

“There are no more slaves. I call the marks Revallas.” Fenera smiles proudly and he cannot help but do the same. _Freedom writing_. 

“Remarkable,” Dorian comments. “What else can you tell us?”

“Were your revelations not enough already?” Keela teases.

“Hm, well…” Fenera spends the rest of their short time together recalling events from the future. Of Blights now extinct, the creation of the new elven homeland and the fates of a few treasured companions. She steers clear of many details and what Solas assumes are darkened times ahead. When asked, she refuses to tell them more about the destruction of the Veil and what occurs after and he suspects it is to protect them.

He finds he cares less about what will inevitably happen and concentrates more on her. Solas listens to the way she speaks, echoes of familiar accents mingled with something bolder, and memorizes her mannerisms, each tug of her braid and the way her hands move as she speaks. It is a futile attempt considering she will be forgotten yet he cannot help but try. 

“It’s ready,” Keela announces all too soon. 

“Now comes the hard part. I need to be able to weave the spell together but with the Veil I won’t be able to grab enough power.”

“It’s a good thing you’re in the presence of three powerful mages then,” Dorian says. “We should be able to assist you just fine.” 

“That’s what I was hoping for.” Fenera glances at the spell one last time before letting her eyes wander over them. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You are a hard thing to resist,” Dorian admits, a touch of fondness in his voice that Solas feels inside.

“I…” Keela clears her throat, stuck on words he imagines she’s not sure how to pronounce for once. She reaches out and places her finger against the dimple on their daughter’s chin, a look he cannot read on her own face. “Good luck.”

He understands the expression Fenera gives in return, however. It speaks of homesickness and hope. “Right. Um, everyone stand back.”

She takes a stance Solas has not seen for centuries. Her hands circle above her head before settling open in front her face and there is grace in the way she moves that sings of the glories of Arlathan forgotten. Then her concentration seems to break and a laugh breaks her face into an irrational smile.

“What is it?” Solas asks.

“The first time I tried a complex spell we caught your coattails on fire. I smelled like burnt hair for a week. Okay, give me whatever you’ve got.”

She begins to turn and hum a wordless melody as he and the others pull mana from their veins and concentrate it on her actions. The air begins to thrum with the brush of magic both familiar and strange. Fenera’s markings glow stronger and the light from them bleeds between her hands to form a ball of energy. She pauses a moment to uncork the vial of potion they meticulously created and pours it into what she has created. 

Lightning crackles across the room for a brief moment before she is able to rein it in between her fingers again and Solas watches as with every movement and note it grows and grows until it flashes bright and he finds himself glancing into another room. The edges of the portal writhe like a storm barely contained but the surface is calm, clear enough to see candlelight and books upon a table.

“It worked!” is Fenera’s joyful cry and Keela slips her hand into his once more. There is triumph in her eyes but a sadness too, for it will be a long and hard road before they see this future in the flesh.

The portal whines, the image rippling. “You must not linger,” he says and Fenera gives him a salute.

“Dareth shiral,” she replies before jumping through and Solas turns his gaze to Keela again as the portal crackles and pulses with blue light, shrinking down in size until all at once is pops out of existence and the world around them disappears with it.

* * *

All in all, it’s been an uneventful week. 

Dorian smiles as he props his feet up and leans back into his chair. Warm sunlight filters through the window nearby and casts his latest find in perfect clarity. It is an uncreased copy of _A History of Influential Magisters_ to help him in the search for Corypheus’ weaknesses and despite the material he feels more relaxed than he has in some time.

Skyhold has settled into a quiet peace as the Inquisition’s main forces still march back from the Arbor Wilds. The incessant, obnoxious cawing of filthy vermin above is blissfully muted and no endless prattle about the Fade wafts up with the heavy scent of paint. The Inquisitor and Solas are on some romantic getaway to Crestwood and Dorian can just imagine all the interesting discussions happening there.

There are no distractions, no annoyances, no bumbling qunari brutes threatening to knock every book off its shelf with those horns. And no, he does not look up at the sound of every elephant footed servant to check if Bull is back, thank you very much. He’s gotten so much studying and work done, it’s almost been a dream come true.

His mustache twitches as a feeling overcomes him. Dorian sneezes loud and long, the sounds echoing up through the rotunda and startling the birds hanging aloft. Someone below offers a blessing and he resists throwing him tome on their heads.

“Bloody dust,” he mutters, sniffling. As quiet returns to Skyhold, Dorian settles back into his book with a contented sigh.

All in all, a rather uneventful week indeed.


End file.
